Proud
by Isabel Night
Summary: During a drought in the Nether Realm, Dais and Sekhmet have a small talk.


**Disclaimer**-I will never own any of the characters mentioned in this story. They belong to Sunrise, Ocean Group, and all other companies affiliated with the show. I am not making any money for the posting of this fan fiction, nor should I receive any money for such reason.

_Proud  
Isabel Night_

Pounding drums echoed throughout the haze-covered city, the timed strikes blending with the monotone chorus of chanted sutras that did little to appease the fickle spirits who controlled the weather. As if the spirits of the sky had turned their backs on the people, the black sun continued to hammer the land with its relentless heat. Saffron-robed monks who were not taking part in the chanting or drumming continued to pray for relief.

Outside the monastery walls, the rhythm flowed through the air, spreading hushed rumors to whoever stopped and listened. As the village women fanned themselves in time with the drums, they gossiped about the latest news. Their words, concerning the decline in the supply of rice, caused many homemakers to shake their heads, petition, and complain.

Inside the capital of the Nether Realm, the City of Desire, the drumming seemed timed to an almost clockwork pace. If there was a countdown to a bad harvest, then government ministers were trying to prepare for the worst by supplementing the food supply. At the head of this effort was a man with wavy white hair and a single good blue eye.

Kuroda Dais sat at his desk with several books stacked in front of him, sighing as he went over the order forms for a large shipment. Although he knew basic math, his training marked him as a warrior; not a merchant.

Normally one of the city administrators would be across the hall assisting him with the paperwork. However, the aide had fainted from the heat while taking inventory in an outdoor storeroom. After rushing him to the medical wing of the palace, one of the healers there assured Dais that his subordinate would be fine with some water and a few days of rest. Now, without help and doing a job he considered beneath him, the former Warlord of Illusion's patience had worn thin.

"Let me see," Dais mumbled to himself, his eyebrow twitching slightly. "The Northern Prefecture is willing to barter large quantities of rice if we agree to send them a year's supply of wheat."

After a few minutes of shuffling, Dais tossed the papers back onto his desk before carelessly shoving them aside. "Just perfect!" he fumed, ignoring the clutter in front of him. "Doesn't this stubborn _daimyo_ realize that a lack of rice also means a lack of wheat? How do they expect us to send them food when we can't even grow our own?"

Having had enough, Dais grabbed the top book, slammed it shut, and threw it on the floor. When the book landed with a loud thud, the force of the impact scattered the already messy pile of forms even more.

Right now, Dais did not want to sign any document. In an attempt to calm down, the oldest of the three Dark Warlords stood up and walked out of the room. The clanking of his dark green sub armor could be heard throughout the castle as he strode down the hallway.

After wandering the main passages, Dais found himself on the third floor balcony. He had often come to this spot when he wasn't working or when he felt overwhelmed. Here he would stand alone, tune out the chanting, and take in the serene view of the golden lake, interconnecting canals, and the normally fragrant garden below.

Today, he could not.

Leaning on the railing and gripping the top bar hard enough to turn his knuckles white, Dais tried again to quiet his turbulent mind. Closing his eye, he forced his mind to focus on the sound of water lapping along the shoreline. When his second attempt at relieving his stress failed, he began to think of the city with its wooden houses, open-air shops, bustling aura, and residents who would stream into the castle gardens every spring to laugh and dance under the cherry trees.

This year's blossoms had already bloomed and fallen leaving behind a collage of wilted foliage. Many plants sported a mixture of green-brown leaves, while some of the summer flowers were coming into bud. Almost all of them had curled-up edges due to the lack of rain.

Autumn would end the three-month heat. Even in the _chujun_ of August, Dais wanted the garden to start revealing its medley of warm hues. Yet, this drought had sapped the trees of their life. Unless the weather improved, everything would turn a parched brown.

Dais frowned at that thought. "I might as well—"

"Take a break?" a male voice interrupted. Its owner made his way towards the other man after stopping on the third floor hallway. "You're starting to worry the advisers."

"Sekhmet," Dais began, turning around to get a better view of his visitor, "what are you doing here?"

"One of the servants overheard you yelling and asked me to find out what was wrong."

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Sekhmet pressed, hands on his hips. "He also claims to have heard something loud slam on the floor."

"That was one of the accounting books." Dais shrugged. "I probably shouldn't have thrown it, but the lists were making me angry."

"The inside of a book made you angry? Maybe you do need to step back and relax. You know how you get when you're around matters of money."

"Thank you for the concern."

Sekhmet did not like the cutting tone he was hearing. "What is your—"

"Nothing!" Dais snapped at the serpent-eyed man. "Everyone's depending on me to have enough food by harvest time! If I don't reach that goal, then we will starve!"

Sekhmet did not respond, but pursed his lips together before clenching his hands into fists. Underneath Dais's frustrated features was a scheming but brilliant mind that had won him many victories in battle. On the rare occasion a plan or idea refused to work the first time, Dais would spend many nights locked in his room, looking for a solution. If the problem wasn't quickly solved, or he was pulled away for another task, then the older man's patience would grow short.

"I know you're aggravated," Sekhmet answered, trying not to sound offended. "If I were heading the effort to import food, I would be too. But getting upset with me isn't going to help. Our people need strength, and when you agreed to do this job, you also agreed to put your temper aside."

"If you're so concerned about it, then you do it!" Dais yelled, not in the mood for a lecture.

Sekhmet's patience – already worn thin – snapped. "I will not! You chose this assignment, and now you're going to see it to the end!" Pausing before biting his lower lip, Sekhmet glared at the man beside him. If Dais wanted a duel of wills, then he would get to the point. "Are you a coward?"

"Is that a challenge?" Dais demanded in his quiet but deadly tone.

"Yes! A true samurai makes a promise and keeps it! If our roles were switched, you would say the same thing!"

Dais started to open his mouth but hesitated and closed it. Part of his rational mind, the one he had set aside until after taking the job, knew that Sekhmet was right. Even if he and Cale didn't hold him to this task, the city's residents would. "I'm sorry," Dais mumbled, ashamed that he had lost his composure. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

Sekhmet nodded, not wanting to dwell on the outburst. After a few seconds of awkward silence, a low hiss escaped. "So, if I may ask, what were you annoyed at?"

"The Northern Province is willing to barter rice if we send them a year's supply of wheat."

"How do they expect us to give them food if we can't grow it ourselves?"

"That's what I was thinking," Dais agreed, "yet they've refused to budge on the issue."

"I see. You know," Sekhmet continued, closing his eyes and shaking his head as if images were dancing along the edge of his vision. "If Talpa were still alive, he would have crushed—"

"Yes," Dais finished. "But there were four of us then, and we didn't have to worry about..."

There he lingered, his eye blinking rapidly. The previous year had been a time of great prosperity, but the mad desire for conquest had driven their demon lord and master, Talpa, to declare war on the human world.

At first, things had gone their way. Then their enemies, a brash group known as the Ronin Warriors, had decided to play dirty by kidnapping Anubis and bringing him to their side. Placing the blame on who kidnapped who became irrelevant as their Warlord of Cruelty had died trying to free Lady Kayura from Talpa's power.

"Do you think Anubis would be proud of us?" Dais asked, trying to push through the maze of memories.

Sekhmet averted his eyes. "You know I can't answer that."

"You can't? Or you don't want to?"

"Who's to say?" Sekhmet sighed as he ran an impatient hand through his green hair. "I've done things that I'm not proud of, but when we sided with the Ronin Warriors—"

"So you don't feel ashamed?"

For a moment neither spoke. "Sometimes," the younger man admitted. "To be honest, I try not to think about it. Feeling sorry for myself won't bring Anubis back."

Dais' mind agreed, but his heart was another matter.

"Look," Sekhmet pointed out, trying to keep the past from overshadowing the present. "Even if Anubis isn't here, I think he would approve of all the changes that have been made."

"He would?"

"Yes. We used to be self-centered, egotistical fools, and now we're worried about people we've never even met. A year ago, we wouldn't have bothered with such a thing. How else can you explain our actions?"

"So that means—"

"Anubis' dying wish came true."

Dais smiled. If that horrible day had been good for something, it would mean that their leader was at rest, successful in doing his duty. "I need to get back to work."

"Why don't you stay and talk?"

"I've still got that shipment to finalize."

Sekhmet nodded in approval. "Now you're doing your duty."

"Thanks." Dais grinned, tightly gripping the autumn warrior's shoulder before leading him off the veranda and back to the workroom.

* * *

Several miles outside the city, a ghostly figure stood in the middle of a dirt road looking up at the sky. His face and identity were kept hidden by a large straw hat, helping him blend in with those who worked the land. As long as no one saw him, he could go about his task.

Satisfied that no one was paying attention, the spirit pushed stray strands of his red-brown hair behind his ears, lifted his palms over his head, and whispered a special prayer. Above him dark clouds spread like an opening parasol.

A few feet away, a farmer working in his dried up rice field felt the first droplet splash on his tunic. Surprised by the moisture, the man straightened up and took off his hat. When he did, another drop landed on his face. As the rain started coming down in steady sheets, the overjoyed farmer left his work and ran back to his village. In his haste, he failed to see his blue-and-white clad benefactor walk in the opposite direction.

_THE END_

**End Notes**-_Chujun_ is the second 10-day half of the month. It is taken from the Japanese calendar, which divides the month roughly into three 10-day periods. A huge thank you to all my Beta Readers; without your help, this story would have never left the ground.


End file.
